


we're alive, we are loved

by shafferthefirst



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, PWP, Post 4x07, Teeny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shafferthefirst/pseuds/shafferthefirst
Summary: They stay in this pattern for a while, her fingers in his hair and his below her waist and the only sound filling the room being their shared and swallowed gasps and sighs. It only takes seconds for him to realize that Jemma is crying.-Or, Jemma and Fitz rekindle something lost and something found.





	

**Author's Note:**

> special thank you to cindy and laura for reading over this! <3
> 
> title is from I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz.

They don’t break contact for the entirety of the evening. She folds beneath his shoulder as they make their way through the halls, he plays with her hair and kisses her knuckles when it isn’t his turn to brief on his unexpected, interdimensional field trip, and she laces their fingers while they forage a quick but suitable dinner. Little, simple touches—reminders that they’re breathing together again.

  
When they finally, _finally_ shut out the world with a firm click of a lock and kicking off their shoes, Jemma wastes no time to bridge the rest of the space between them, pins him between the door and her warm embrace. She kisses him roughly, bruisingly, with teeth and tongue and fire. He responds in kind, succumbing the need to feel skin by working her blouse from her pants and spreading his fingers across her back without a barrier.

  
Their psychic link clearly up and running, Jemma peels her hands off his collar and quickly unbuttons her top and discards it to give him more room to work with, doing the same to his as well before running her fingernails down his chest. The beat of his heart against her skin only spurs the neediness of her kisses on.

  
Fitz pushes forward, steering her to their shared desk space, carefully dodging the disarray of half-full boxes around the room. When they reach it, he digs his palms into the softness of her waist to lift her onto the higher surface, prying her mouth open with his tongue as she locks her legs around him. They stay in this pattern for a while, her fingers in his hair and his below her waist and the only sound filling the room being their shared and swallowed gasps and sighs.

  
It only takes seconds for him to realize that Jemma is crying.

  
She chases his lips when he pulls back, face flushed and eyes dark and wayward tears on her cheeks. She dives back in but he stops her.

  
“Jemma?”

  
“I’m fine,” she says, tugging him down for another kiss.

  
He breaks away, skimming her back with his palms. “What is it?” When she doesn’t answer, he tips his forehead into hers. “Jemma, what’s wrong?”

  
She exhales shakily, and her hands rise to his cheeks to kiss him tenderly once more. “I listened to your voicemails, Fitz. On the ride home.” He tries to comment but she kisses him quiet. “They confiscated my phone—I wasn’t avoiding you, I _swear._ I wouldn’t, I would _never_ worry you like that, no matter how cross I was with you. Honest.”

  
“I know,” Fitz nuzzles against her cheek before pressing his lips there. “I know.” He starts kissing every freckle on her face he can reach until she smiles, gently batting his face away, only to reel him back in for a full kiss. “I love you.”

  
“And I love you,” she murmurs back, swiping her thumb along his cheek to point the last word. He leans in to capture her mouth again, aiming for a long kiss, but she simply pecks his lips once before burying her face in his neck, smiling against his skin. For many reasons, this—holding him close with her whole body as if trying to absorb him on the spot—is what she needs, and he understands, allowing her to breathe him in for as long as she wants.

  
After a while, his legs start to strain from leaning so heavily against her and the desk, the day finally catching up to him, so he holds her tighter to him and lifts with a grunt, laying her down on the center of their bed and rolling to his side. Finally loosening her grip, but not ready to let go, she tugs him over her for a languid kiss.

  
She keeps the pace of her string of kisses slow and simple, dizzying and teasing, so he groans in surprised pleasure when she glides her tongue over his before retracting. Jemma chuckles from beneath him as her fingers graze along the bumps and grooves along spine.

  
He takes this as a lead to move on, shifting over her to kiss his way down the side of her neck; he pauses and sucks at the places he’s privileged to know will make her shiver—right below her ear, her pulse point, her sternomastoid—and trails his tongue across the less stimulating places until he hears her sigh and clutch his shoulders, taking a mental note for future reference.

  
“I missed you so much,” Fitz breathes against her skin, sliding her bra strap off her shoulder and working his way under her jaw with his lips so he can feel the contractions when she smiles.

  
“Mmm, I missed you more,” she says.

  
“Impossible.”

  
“Quite probable, actually.”

  
He pauses his task, picking his head up to look at her and suppressing a smirk when she whines. “Must everything be a competition with you?”

  
“No, not everything,” she grins up at him.

  
“Yeah? And what makes something not, then?”

  
Jemma pretends to think long and hard about his question, before pursing her lips mischievously.

  
“When I know I’m going to win.”

  
Fitz rolls his eyes, burying his face in her neck again and she takes advantage of his reaction by rolling atop of him—pinning down his shoulders with her palms for more kisses. He fires back by smoothing his hands down too her ass, squeezing gently and pulling her down against him before moving to unbutton the front and sliding them down her legs, then sets to work on removing his own. She grins against him in approval. Only once they’re stripped down their underthings, does she stop kissing him and curl herself around him again. He pecks the top of her head and holds her to his chest.

  
“Thank you for coming back to me,” she whispers, kissing above his heart.

  
“Thanks for giving me something to come back to,” he says back.

  
She kisses his collarbone. “Anytime.” Then she continues up his neck, nipping at the underside of his jaw and then his earlobe, soothing the sting with her lips. She can feel movement against her center from his boxers as he shudders out a deep breath. Smirking, she rolls her hips over him, sighing as a bolt of heat zings through her. He cups her face to slant her mouth open again and she hums, grinding down to him again and again to make him moan.

  
Two can play at that game, he decides, mapping out constellations of freckles on her back until he reaches her bra and unclasps it with one rehearsed motion, thumbing at the sides of her breasts. Jemma shudders, bites down on his bottom lip.

  
She starts to mumble out a halfhearted apology but he rolls her over instead, scooting down on the mattress to kiss his way down her chest as she squirms beneath him. Her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth falls open as his tongue makes contact, swirling around one of the peaks straining for his attention before sucking it into his mouth.

  
_“Fitz,”_ she sighs, and he shoots her a wink before switching to the other. She writhes underneath him, fingers twisting in his hair just a little too hard as he adores her chest with a lazy sort of urgency, taking his time. She lets him, enjoying the steadily growing flicker within.

  
When the flicker burns into a flame, she tugs him off of her—kissing him once, twice, then shoves at his shoulders to make him sit up. He understands instantly, scrambling out of his underwear and sits against the headboard, patiently waiting for her to join him.

  
She wiggles out of her damp panties and tosses them to the growing pile on the floor, crawling over and sinking down onto him easily and without even giving him a chance to prepare. They both moan at the sudden sensation.

  
“You’re sure you don’t need to—” she cuts him off with a firm kiss, locking her arms around his neck.

  
“We’ll get to that later,” she sighs breathily. “Trust me, I’m more than ready.” He’s adorably disappointed at first, and then she moves against him and he shuts up altogether. As he did moments ago, she goes slowly, carefully, lovingly, grinning into his half-reciprocated kisses and panting in tandem as the fire spreads.

  
In the end, it’s the tale that’s rewritten every day, but ends exactly the same every time.

  
He stumbles, she falls. He pulls, she pushes. He’s the shore, she’s the sea.

  
They bend, and they collide.

  
He’s safe, and she’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought! and feel free to hit me up on tumblr, @ jemmaswan <3


End file.
